


The Wages of Sin

by Mentor



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27391681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mentor/pseuds/Mentor
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

Balder is the only one present, the only one truly present, when Thor and Loki are first introduced. It is not their first meeting, but Loki had been a newborn babe, mewling and pathetic, beneath Thor’s dignity and delusions of his own budding grandeur, when a twelve year old Thor had been sent out to foster where his parents hoped – vainly, as time would show - he would learn the dignity, restraint, and honor expected of a warrior of Asgard. Let alone that expected of a future king of Asgard.

Even as a child Thor had exhibited a viciousness that seemed almost irrational. His rages were uncontrollable whirlwinds of undirected violence, usually prompted by the slightest perceived injustice. When he was eight years old a simple playground disagreement over ownership of a wooden sword had descended, seemingly at random, into what Thor’s nurse could only describe as a ‘mauling’. Thor had torn at the other boy, tearing ribbons of skin and flesh from his face and body, ripping handfuls of blood-tipped hair from his head; kicked; screamed; and cursed his family before finally sinking his teeth into the meaty flesh of the boy’s forearm, intent on ripping the flesh from his very bones. Later Thor would claim not to remember what he had done or what compelled him to savage his playmate so completely, but he remembered the taste of the blood that had flowed so freely and he savoured the aftertaste that burned down his throat and warmed his stomach like the mulled wine he sometimes pilfered from his father’s cup. 

He was sent away for the first time, then. To the elves of the wood who taught him to fight with bow and short sword, to the giants where he learned to battle with axe and hammer, and the elves, to learn the art of wrestling, and stick fighting, and other martial arts. He would intermittently return home for his parent’s inspection, but again and again they would see something within him that in turn filled them with an unease, and he would again be sent away to some new master in the vain hope that the dark thing within him would finally be washed away by the honest sweat of labour.

He learned to do battle, and his renown in the seven kingdoms, even within Asgard itself, began to grow. Soldiers who came to the palace would pound young Balder heartily on the back as if he were one of their number and joke that he too would soon grow to be a legendary beserker like his brother Thor the Thunderer. Thor, who at fourteen had wrestled with a troll and slain him with his bare hands. Thor, who at fifteen had single-handedly slaughtered a marauding band of goblins to the last man. Thor, who at seventeen had slain a dragon and eaten its warm, still-beating heart. Thor, who at nineteen had razed the main encampment of the Dark Elves’ capital, cut the head of the king clean from his shoulders in one stroke, and drank his blood mixed with his wine, all in revenge for their grave insult to the Allfather’s dignity.

It was after this incident that the God-Prince Thor was finally recalled home, after nearly ten long years. It was then that he was finally to meet his youngest brother Loki and lead him willingly down the road to madness.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki was not his mother’s child but he was his mother’s joy. Born of one of Odin’s minor dalliances, this with a young Frost Giant who arrived in Asgard as one of the Jotun ambassador’s party during the negotiation of the Winter Treaty, he was an undersized, spindly boy of seven years that spring. His hair, which by his mother’s whim more than his own preference had never been cut, was held in a long braid down his back, its deep blackness indistinguishable from the inky black skirts that trailed soundlessly along the floor when he walked, usually in the wake of his beloved mother. Loki was reserved but undeniably a sweet and intelligent child. His Jotun heritage showed through in the bone white china of his skin, in the slight blue flush of his cheeks in the winter, and in his affinity for magic. But always he was Frigga’s daughter-son, her perfect likeness in spirit if not in flesh. He sat with her at the loom, learned how to weave the past, possible futures, the lies in men’s hearts. He shared with her all his little childish confidences, slept by the hearth in her chambers on winter mornings. 

When Thor returns to Asgard he is lead immediately to his father’s private chambers by a small battalion of petrified servants who cannot bring themselves to look at any part of his person higher than his knees. His parents conduct their usual observation, staring wordlessly into his face, standing hand in hand, for three slow minutes before his mother smiles her secret smile, that gentle, pure smile reserved only for her children, and take him into her arms. “Welcome home, my son.”

Balder is waiting outside the door, pacing impatiently and clearly dressed for an outing. “Brother!” he exclaims joyously when Thor is finally excused, and laughs raucously as he’s pulled into a bruising bear hug. “I can’t believe you’re finally home! And to stay?”

Thor nods. “Aye, to stay. Let me look at you.” He holds Balder by the shoulders, critically surveying the sixteen year old’s growth, the thick muscle in his shoulders and arms, the stout legs, ruddy cheeks, haphazardly cut dark hair. “Still a babe, I see.”

“The hell say you! I am no Thor of the Thundering Hammer, but I have got my own battle axe near a year now and I am to join ___’s band in the summer. But come, brother, shall I take you to your chambers or will you come with me into town? My lady Sif and the Warriors Three wait for us at Siger’s tavern.”

That Thor chose to report immediately to the tavern is of little surprise. As they cross the courtyard they come upon Loki, who sits under a tree with his tutor, an unreasonably large, thickly bound text on his lap. When he sees them Loki sets the book aside and rises gracefully, seeming to drift upwards like a leaf on the fine edge of a breeze, and stares silently up at his brothers with immense, unblinking green eyes.

“Thor, I’m sure you do not recognize our little Loki; he was but a babe when you last saw him, I think.”

Loki steps closer to them then, into the sunlight, which only accentuates the nearly translucent blue-whiteness of his skin. He curtsies impossibly deep, his eyes never leaving theirs and, hands hidden in those billowing skirts, mumbles “My Lord brother, you are most welcome home.” Loki’s tutor bows behind him, muttering his apologies – they had not realised Thor would be returning so early in the day or else they surely would have been on hand to greet him properly. Thor says nothing, and Balder notices then that he is staring, not looking but staring, at their brother. When he does speak it’s not to acknowledge the tutor, who continues to mumble nervously and furtively collect the books strewn across the grass. “Little Prince,” his right hand comes to rest on the back of Loki’s head, “you have grown.”

Loki is lead away to continue his lessons in the library, and Balder watches Thor’s gaze follow his course across the courtyard. There is a hunger in Thor’s eyes; ravenous, all consuming, wholly undisguised, that turns Balder’s stomach to lead.


End file.
